The Yellow Tinted Hue of Youth

Wake up. 

Get out of bed.

Get dressed.

Go to the job you hate.

Work.

Come home.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake up.

This is all Steve does nowadays, gone are the times of spontaneity and fun, his world is devoid of colour. Each day passes, a grey blur of routine nothing.

“I hate this.” Steve sighs as he sits down in his tiny cubicle. He is one of the many inmates at James and Sons’ Accounting, the place where dreams go to die. He can't even remember what day it is, but then again, he doesn't really care.

“Morning sunshine. ” Dave pats Steve on the back, they have this exchange every morning. Steve can’t remember why it started, but he appreciates the gesture. Everything in this room is grey, even the people. That’s how you can tell how long someone has been working here, after a while you are reduced to the colour on the walls. 

Steve turns 28 this year, but his face tells a different story. Deep set worry lines crease his forehead, his once lively blue eyes seem dulled by the monotony of life. His 18th birthday seems both recent and lifetimes away. He could remember being so excited that he was finally an adult, he had all these dreams and plans. None of his plans included a large grey room filled with worn boxes and tired people.

The only sound Steve hears is the distant scratching of pencils. He stares at the piece of paper, the numbers swim in and out of his vision. With a sickening thud, his head drops onto the cramped desk.

Gasping, Steve wakes up in bed, reaching for air he cannot find. He looks around, his entire body trembling with a feeling he’s grown to accustomed too, fear.

Steve has been losing time for a couple of months now, he doesn’t know what to do. The headaches are almost constant, a dull ache pressing behind his eyes. Steve has never felt so alone.

Everyday he comes back from the room of boxes, just to find more at home. Cardboard boxes filled with things from his childhood. Things he never bothered to unpack. The rest of his flat is immaculate, Steve has always been one for organization. His heart pulls him towards his only window, overlooking a desolate street, completely empty with the exception of a truck. The colour of which was equivalent to that of a liquid sunset.

BOom BooM bOOm. 

“Steve, this is it. I get it now.” A boy screams his face tilted towards the sky as he laughs with a younger, happier Steve.

“Get what!?”

“LIFE STEVE. LIFE.” Steve’s smile stretched across his face. Their bright yellow truck stood out on the black tarmac road. A blur of happiness in an otherwise grey world. Going so fast it feels like flying.

WHAM. 

He wakes, his wet face pressed against the cold tile, short staggered breaths filling up the emptiness of his kitchen. A sense of longing courses through his veins, his heart hungry for the companionship that he clearly lacks.

He stands up and forces his words and emotions into a bottle. While most people would go to a psychiatrist, Steve knows he can’t afford it, not if he wants to escape this prison of paperwork. He walks back to the window, the truck is gone.

Steve’s been saving for years now, he calls it “The Great Escape” The idea of leaving behind this thing that pretends to be a life, is invigorating. But for now, Steve is here, in this grey box, waiting, hoping. The room is exactly the same as yesterday, there is a strange sort of comfort in the familiar. 

Another day goes by with nothing changing, nothing happening. How is it that one can feel so alone in a room full of people? Steve doesn’t have any friends. He tells himself he doesn’t have time, but that can’t be true when he spends hours scrolling through his phone. How is it that the thing that “draws us all together” is the thing that isolates us and tears us apart? 

Steve goes on the train everyday to get to work, he hates driving. He sits in a carriage packed full of faceless people, all of them on their phones. So close together, yet all islands separated by a vast ocean of communication. Steve does not want to be an island, but there he is, not wishing to be the only one in the crowd without a small, blue screen. 

Steve thinks sometimes about the state of the earth, about the state of his life, only to be distracted by a colourful assault of the senses. Billboards advertising a new product that is exactly like the old ones. Steve can’t remember what it’s like to feel anymore. Except in his dreams, his dreams are full of bright colours and exciting people he doesn’t know yet. When he wakes up his whole body is crying out for the ones he misses. His skin screams a thousand times for the people he can’t wait to meet. Steve looks for these people everywhere he goes, as if they were the answer. As if there is an answer. But right now, in this grey room, Steve cannot be bothered to actually work. All he wants to do is dream, dream of colours, happiness, flying and other wonderfully impossible things.

Without trying to be subtle, The Signs of Depression fill his screen. You would think you would know, Steve thinks, if you were depressed. I would know. But as he scrolls through the article, he isn’t so sure. Each word falls onto his tired eyes, bearing a weight heavier than he expected.

“Steve.”

“Wha- Hello Dave.” Steve quickly fumbled to close the article.

“What ya doing mate? Clicked out of something quick there.” Dave’s thick cockney accent filled the quiet room.

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Steve muttered, he felt that this was largely symbolic of most of his life.

“Whatever you say.” Dave leans in close, his breath a rude intrusion “Make sure you clear your browsing history, yeah?”

Steve just nods along, not sure quite what Dave meant until the top of his bald head had disappeared from sight. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, each tock seemed hours apart. Fuck this. Without saying a word he pushes through the doors until his eyes meet the unfamiliarity of the outside world. In the corner of his eye he sees a sudden flash of yellow. Across the street was something that vaguely resembled a man. Now, it was not appearance that made him so unusual. No, it was how he carried himself, standing tall, both feet stuck firmly in the beauty of the moment. People passed the man without giving him a second glance, but Steve saw him. And with a sharp turn of the head it became evident that the man saw him too.

Steve stood frozen, his feet stuck to the ground, like two cement blocks as the colourfully dressed stranger bounded across the road, barging past all traffic, with a confidence that seemed to defy death.  

How does he do that, how is he so free, so unafraid?

“It’s not that difficult.” He grins, the yellow scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

Eyes widening, Did I say that out loud?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you, do I?” Steve asks.

“Well, yes. I mean, not really. I guess you used too. My name’s Lucas by the way, in case you’d forgot”

The name was not one that Steve could remember, yet there was something about Lucas that made him instantly trustworthy. 

“How bout we go down to the pub for old times sake?”

“Well, I- I- haven’t finished my work day yet.” 

“Screw work. Just have fun, loosen up.” 

As they make their way to the pub, Lucas laughs and even though Steve couldn’t remember his face, the laughter reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place.

The night at the pub was a night Steve will never forget. Lucas made him feel free, less grey, more alive. So when Lucas asked if he could crash at Steve’s for a couple days, Steve didn’t hesitate to set up a makeshift bed in the living room. They would stay up til the sun rose, drinking and talking about everything one can possibly imagine. The only thing Lucas wouldn’t tell him is where he knew Steve from, but Steve couldn’t care less, he had a friend.

* * *

“Steve, mate. Can I talk to you?”

“What, I’m fine yeah? Just fuck off Dave, I’m alright really, never been better.”

“Look here. I’ve been sitting next to you for nearly four years now. I know that we aren’t best mates or anything. But I’m worried about you. I can smell the booze on your breath. You look unwell, there are bags under your eyes, and don't even get me started on you talking to Mr. Nobody.”

“Mr. Nobo- Dave, Are you mad? Can’t you see? I’m a new man, never been better, never been better.”

“That’s obviously not true. To be quite frank, I don’t want to leave you alone, I’ve seen this before.”

“What do you know about any of this?”

Dave’s face suddenly seemed very old. The joking twinkle of his eyes was replaced by one of hardship and hurt, and as he began to talk a lone tear escaped and made it down the valleys of his face. 

“Oh I know what you're going through, it happened with my son, Finn. He was a good lad he was, he’s gone now. I don’t want you to go as well, you hear?”

Steve nods, there isn’t anything you can say when faced with that amount of pain.

“Steve. Go home, clean yourself sorry self up. I’ll drive, you ain’t as alright as you think you are.”

Steve collapsed onto Dave, silent shuddering sobs, he didn’t know where all the tears came from but once they started they couldn't stop.

“It’s alright mate. Try not to get your snot on the shirt, my wife will off me.”

Steve fumbled with his keys, hands shaking like that of someone twice his age. 

“There we go, home sweet home. Let me introduce you to my friend, he's been staying here a while.”

As the door opened, Dave was greeted with a foul stench. The odor of rotten food, mustiness and alcohol was almost overwhelming. Steve staggered in, and pushed the many empty bottles of alcohol off of the sofa.

“Make yourself at home. Lucas get yourself in here. We have a visitor.” Steve called out but was only greeted with silence. 

“Huh, he must have gone to the pub or the shops, he’ll be back soon.”

“Alright then. Steve this flat is absolutely minging, I’m going to have to do something about this.”

“Dave you don’t have to-”

“Bollocks. Of course I have to, you can’t live in filth. Jesus, how did it get so bad?”

Empty bottles and packages of takeaway cover every surface of the once immaculate flat, the only thing that didn’t seem to be touched was the pile of boxes in the corner of the dingy room. Steve laid on the couch, but everytime he closed his eyes, he saw the curly haired boy from his dreams. Anguish filled his body and mind, his blood felt like acid, corroding his inside. Guilt is such a powerful emotion, it rips its victim apart with their own thoughts. 

Dave is like a tornado in reverse, he runs around the room, putting everything back in place, hoping that it will help. Soon, all that is left of the mess are the boxes. He wouldn’t be able to say what it was that made him open them, but regardless of intent they were opened, all the same. Old pictures and letters dating back to a time without iphones. 

“Oi Steve, I didn’t know you had a brother? It's uncanny that is.”

“Brother? I don’t have a br-” Steve looks up, he doesn’t notice the tears sliding down his cheeks.

Dave passed him a photograph, Steve was greeted with a younger version of him, with his arm around a young Lucas.

“Steve, this is it. I get it now.” A boy screams his face tilted towards the sky as he laughs with a younger, happier Steve.

“Get what!?”

“LIFE STEVE. LIFE.” Steve’s smile stretched across his face. Their bright yellow truck stood out on the black tarmac road. A blur of happiness in an otherwise grey world. Going so fast it feels like flying. Too fast, much too fast. It happened so quickly, a car swerving in front of them, Steve hit the brakes as quick as he could. It wasn’t quick enough. Lucas wasn’t wearing a seat belt.